Part 1
“My daughter has her prom next week and Lordy can that girl kick up a fuss…”
Hearing that as she was walked past reception, arms piled high with fresh warm towels, Cordelia was unwillingly transported back almost two years, back to Sunnydale High and life as the reigning Queen of all that was hot and popular. Going numb her legs stopped moving.
Mental shutters flipping up allowed old memories to filter back; getting chased by boys because she was beautiful, vampires because she was food, then the big school dances with weeks spent canvassing for votes to be crowned, a social highlight blighted twice, once with having to fight for her life from an invisible girl and then again getting mistaken for a slayer and hunted like an animal.
Just the usual for the town built over a hellmouth. Oblivious to the growing number of surreptitious glances coming her way as she simply stood there, Cordelia was sucked back into reliving how she’d come to leave it.
White walls, white floor, white blinds. White, white and more white. What did it matter when all she could see was the filthy factory caked in grime and spilled blood from its vampire inhabitation? No, that wasn’t quite true. It was the bed she saw being burned in her minds eye… along with the straining pair, lips locked together as if life depended on how deep they could get inside one another.
“Miss Chase, Hi, my name is Dr Steven’s. How are you feeling today, are we treating you well?”
Blinking back into the present, Cordy watched with dulled eyes as the doctor lowered himself into the plastic visitors chair on her left. “Sure, I guess.”
Before she could ask the question burning the forefront of her mind a rotund Hispanic woman entered, too, seemingly out of place in her normal street clothes and lack of a white coat.
Dragging over a second plastic chair she smiled warmly, “Hello, Cordelia, do you remember me, I’m Angela. I visited you the day before last.”
A struggle produced a dim memory of soft hands and a soothingly melodic female voice. Cordy guessed she was some kind of counsellor and all round comforter. Unconsciously clutching the thin bed sheet in nervous hands and licking dry lips, she nodded and asked, “Are my parents here yet?”
Uncomfortable, Dr Steven’s hesitated before answering, “Not yet, but they promise to be here as soon as they can. Problems I understand with travel,” he was hedging she could see it in his eyes. He had a kind face, young and earnest with moss green eyes that managed to convey a compelling mix of intelligence, kindness and sympathy.
She didn’t want his sympathy, Cordelia’s chest tightened. Her parents weren’t coming. Oh God, what does that say about me? Her throat went tight too as unwelcome tears pricked. Latching onto the kindness she asked huskily, “When can I go home? I want to go home,” she couldn’t have held back the pleading note if she’d tried.
Home was somewhere she could cry properly. Not muffle it under sheets draped over heaving shoulders and a damp face; letting the tears of pain, bitter resentment and searing humiliation finally flow and if she was really lucky, rid her body of the awful tightness from having to hold it all in.
Again he hesitated, glancing needlessly down at the flipchart held in square hands before looking towards Angela for support. Catching the by-play between the two of them Cordelia’s belly gave a lurch. She guessed the answer wasn’t going to be what she wanted to hear.
She wasn’t wrong. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible right now, Ms Chase. Look, can I call you Cordelia?” His eyes finally connected with hers.
Trying to read between the lines she simply nodded again not trusting herself to speak, and waiting for a reason that afterwards she’d despairingly think no amount of bracing could have prepared her for.
“Cordelia, I have some news that may come as a shock. Personally, I would’ve preferred waiting until your parents are here, but given the delay and the fact they’ve authorised me to arrange for your transfer. I think its time you were … um…brought up to speed.”
Dreaded circled like a vulture waiting to swoop and for some reason her right arm ached in tandem with the sickly throb of her heart. Inexplicably breathless she stuttered, “Transferred, why?”
Seeing the starkly blue and pinched look about the girl’s mouth it was Angela that answered, butting in gently to the visible relief of her doctor, “Its standard procedure to check certain aspects of patient health when substantial injuries are involved. Those investigations found an…anomaly that needs treating.”
The ceaseless background hum of activity outside the bubble of her room faded. Breathlessness spreading, Cordelia’s vision started to swim, turning the pair blurred, “Anomaly? Is…is that bad?”
It sounded bad- really, really bad to her. Frightened, Cordelia suddenly felt about five-years-old. Oh God, why do I have to be alone? Please, Mom, please I need you! Don’t leave me alone. Lips trembling as that silent wail echoed in her head she tried to hold back the welling tears by scrunching up her face.
The explanation when it haltingly came out dropped all sensation from her belly as the icy snakes of fear solidified. Then survival instincts kicked in and she tuned them out, retreating far away.
Both ears were buzzing and only quieted when Cordy realised she’d stopped breathing altogether. Hauling in a choppy lungful, she was struck with the urge to tell her soft voiced tormentors to shut-up and go away; wait for her parents, or doomsday whichever came sooner. The words got stuck in her throat.
*
“Cordy, helloooo, Cordy. Are you okay?” Two fingers clicked in front of her glazed eyes.
Drawn back and coming too, she blinked to focus on the face peering worriedly at her. Tall, lithe and pretty with skin the colour of dark chocolate, Lily was the resident beautician and a good friend. Realising what must have happened, Cordy wished the floor would suddenly open up and maybe save her some pride.
Thinking fast she grimaced with embarrassment, laughing, “Sorry, I must have zoned out there for a while.” Her smile was extra wide and laced with apology. “Wow, intense… and boy! Do I need to get more shut-eye or what, only next time, before I go to sleep on my feet, huh?”
Reassured as intended and snagging her elbow, Lily got them both moving, leaning in to whisper, “Um, yeah! You looked like you’d seen a ghost or something. Besides, Hilda is watching you and she looks about ready to explode.”
Shrugging off the funk the memories had left her with and craning her neck around, Cordy aimed a grin at a frowning Hilda standing behind the reception desk. Big boned and white blonde over a wide face, the German woman was framed by the huge glossy white and red, LA fitness sign that managed to make her look even more anal retentive.
“Pfft, let her. Put it this way; she has to do something to get that poker out that’s rammed up her ass. Geeze, I’ve never met anyone who needs to get laid so much in all my life. I just pity the poor schmuck who has to climb on, ya know?”
Snorting in agreement and unloading half the towels of her, Lily checked her watch. Her brows climbed, “Are these for sauna? Because if so, girlfriend, you don’t have time to deliver them. As in, don’t you have the graveyard aerobics class to run?”
Cordelia had caught a break getting the class, but only after a lot of hard-work and of course the gym’s manager had risked her only on the last class of the day. It meant working longer hours rather than travel back and forth, except for when she had auditions, but the way she figured it was a girl needs to eat and the cafeteria being free to staff was a big plus.
A quick check of her own watch had Cordy wincing and then aiming a hopeful glance at her friend. Sighing dramatically, the other girl winked a playful brown eye and took the rest of them out of her arms, “Fine I’ll take them over. You go and get ready, then I’ll join you.”
On her way already, that surprise statement had a grateful Cordy turning mid-step, sneakers squeaking a protest on the tiled floor, “I thought you were done for the day?”
Lily didn’t turn or slow as she pounded up the stairs to the next level, just tossed back over one tee-shirt covered shoulder. “I am, but I figured I’d join your class. Even with the discount it’s another fee paying body, right?”
Stunned, Cordy stilled before necessity and lack of time had her shaking off the second funk in as many minutes and jogging towards the staff changing rooms. God, if she wasn’t firmly hetro she’d be in love with that girl. Talk about a world away from Harmony and the other Cordettes. And her, too, if she was honest.
“Hey, I’m working on it aren’t I? Sheesh, who needs enemies when you’ve got yourself?”
***
He kept the outer office lights on and left his own shrouded in darkness. Outside the pitch of traffic lowered to an occasional hum and to any normal person the brooding quiet would have been suffocating. Not so the vampire sitting in silent contemplation.
Two photographs lay on Angel’s desk. Lounging in his worn leather desk chair with an elbow braced and two fingers propping up his forehead, he gazed unblinkingly at the two rectangles of colour. It was a ritual by now and at least once a day he laid them out. He liked to think of it as his homage to the past and a reminder of why getting too close could bring immeasurable pain and grief.
”Are you still my girl?”
”Always.”
”The good fight, yeah? You never know until you’ve been tested- I get that now
Doyle. Doyle. Doyle! Doyle! NO!
Buffy Summers, laughing and full of life shone out from one, while Doyle his one time half-demon sidekick stood resentfully hunched and shadowed as if trying to escape the camera. They were both dead. Buffy a year ago fighting the Mayor and Doyle just last month when he’d saved Angel, Wesley and a boat-load of half-demons from the ‘Scourge’, a battalion of rabid pure-blood demons with a mission to rid the world of human/demon hybrids.
Doyle’s last vision from the PTB’s was still unsolved. A fact that drove Angel crazy thinking he was letting his dead friend down by not being smart enough to work it out. He kept wishing if only they’d had more time, but the vision had come at a stinkingly bad point when they’d been fixated on getting the innocent out of harms way.
All Doyle had told him was that the vision had shown him beating hearts, two pretty girls; one blonde and a brunette, and a gym right here in LA. Not much to go on but neither had realised they wouldn’t have time for a longer debrief later. Doyle, a dark haired and roguish Irishman with a sense of honour that usually bordered on the wayward side had sacrificed himself less than an hour later.
Stricken with the memory of watching him melt into nothing, Angel abruptly sat up, scrubbing his face with both hands as if to wipe it all away. Then sitting back and puffing out his cheeks he couldn’t help repeating the same questions he’d asked a hundred times before now.
“Damn it, Doyle, you were supposed to live. You said you weren’t a hero. Why couldn’t you have just stayed the messenger and then…” realising where he was headed, Angel bit the rest off and shook his head in self-loathing. Then what? He wouldn’t have to have Doyle on his conscience?
The opening of the outer door intruded, heralding the arrival of Wesley Wyndham Pryce. Locking his emotions away again and surging to his feet in one lithe move, Angel swept the photographs up and tapping them once to align the edges properly, slid them into the top drawer of his desk. Some things stayed private, his grief was one of them.
Coming out of his inner office, he met the ex-Watcher halfway and hands resting on lean hips, pinned him with a half hopeful, half expectant look. “Well?”
Dreading the response, Wesley tossed his jacket onto the rackety coat-stand, then spread helpless hands. “I returned to the library and re-checked the archives to see if I’d missed any reports, only to find that, as I expected, I hadn’t.
Angel’s face didn’t so much as flicker; waiting for more. Heaving a sigh, Wes ticked them off on his fingers, “There’s still nothing about hearts, gyms or girls in trouble. I even went along to scout out a few, but they’re full of pretty girls of all hair colours imaginable.”
They both glanced longingly at the computer sitting abandoned on the desk by the window, but Doyle had been the only one proficient with its use. “This is hopeless, we’re hopeless.” Wesley groaned and dropped tiredly onto the small, battered brown couch, just as the phone rang.
Since he was closer and Wesley was wallowing in angry self-castigation, Angel picked it up his frown changing from aggravation to intense interest when the caller identified herself. “Kate…” he greeted simply, casting a speaking glance at Wesley, warning him to pay attention, “…what’s up?”
A few words later, an arrested expression dropped over Angel’s pale, handsome face and abruptly he cut her off, “Kate, hold up a second, I’m putting you on speaker phone. Then can you repeat the last few details?” A press of a button later and Detective Kate Lockley’s voice echoed tinnily about the office.
Sure. Like I said, I have a dead male Caucasian on my hands with his heart cut out. You asked me to let you know if anything came up involving hearts and this is definitely a weird one, which I figured is right up your alley.
Raising a brow at that wry comment, he caught Wesley’s shrug, “Thanks I appreciate this, Kate. Can you say again where he came from?”
Oh yeah, sorry, Richard Stokes is listed as being from Sunnydale, California. According to his records he only moved to LA a few months ago.
Sitting up, Wesley’s disillusion fell away, “Interesting,” he mouthed, thinking that was an understatement of gargantuan proportions.
So, are you coming? I can only get you in for 5 minutes tops and I’m only offering that because I’m hoping your um… extra senses can spot something we haven’t.
Pleasantries and assurances to help without taking action later, Angel disconnected and Wesley, now standing next to him having been thoroughly drawn out of his despondency could wait no longer, “That’s it! That’s our connection. How ironic is it that it goes back to our roots- so to speak?”
Whirling to pace without waiting for a response, Wesley’s brain kicked into high gear, “Do you think the blonde in Doyle’s vision-“
“Buffy,” agreed Angel, perching on the desk with his arms crossed and deep in thought too, hiding the stab of pain at speaking her name out-loud.
“So, that just leaves the brunette. Its imperative we find out who she is and where she lives. After all, it’s likely she’s in a great deal of peril.”
“True, but the only way to find her is via Buffy. Hearts remember?”
That stopped him in his tracks with blue eyes going comically wide behind the wire-framed spectacles, “Oh good Lord, yes, I’d completely forgotten about that. Buffy’s organs were offered for transplant after she erm…” faltering at the wealth of bitter pain crossing the vampire’s hewn features, Wesley wanted to kick himself, cursing his own lack of discretion.
Guessing what had caused the sudden discomfort and pushing away from his comfortable perch, Angel waved it aside, adding as he crossed the office to shrug on a long black coat, “Its okay, Wesley. I admit I hated the idea at the time, but given the kind of person she was, it’s what she would have wanted. All we can do now is find out who got them?”
Relieved beyond measure, Wesley beamed at his rapidly disappearing back then moved to follow having snatched his own tan jacket back off the peg, “Excellent, and all I can say is, it’s about time we had a lead we could actually follow with some hope of eventual success.”
Angel’s voice coming from the corridor halted him before he’d taken two steps, “You stay here and find out what you can about the donor programme. I won’t be long.”
Shoulders slumping, a freshly despondent Wesley turned jaundiced eyes on the strangely menacing computer, sitting innocently atop the outer office desk, “What? How does he honestly expect me to get that information this late, it’s almost 9pm? It’s an impossible task. Herculean even.”
***
The far side of the high-ranking office suite was a wall of glass. Gracing the rest where priceless paintings ranging from modern art depicting mutated human forms, to soft pastels from the height of the impressionist era. Underfoot, carpet thick enough to sink into cushioned approaching feet and preserving the profitable tranquillity. Overall, it was a mixture of stark reality laced with hedonism where even the polish smelt expensive.
“Sir, the report’s back from downstairs and it wasn’t the slayers heart. We need to move onto the next one.” Even impeccably suited there remained an irrepressible energy about the young man who knocked, entered on command then strode unhesitatingly forward to deliver the bad news.
Swinging gently back and forth in his expansive executive chair and gazing dispassionately down at the cityscape below, Holland Manners tapped a finger thoughtfully against his lips, then as if reaching an unpleasant decision, swung about to look directly at his protégé saying, “I think it’s disgraceful, Lindsey.”
“Sir?” Knocked off stride, Lindsey MacDonald experienced a whole new level of unease, looking to recover he stiffened his spine adding, “If I’ve done something-”
Smiling his surprise and as if fazing him hadn’t been his intention Holland, waved a dismissive hand, “No-no, not you, how could I be displeased with my star performer. No, I meant this mess. It’s hard to believe in this day and age that a computer glitch can cause so much mayhem. Do they not have backups?”
“Yes, sir, but limited. Which is why we know only the names and addresses of the recipients from the time-period, not their donor’s.”
“Have a seat, Lindsey” once his subordinate was comfortable Holland carried on, “Meaning we can’t focus on the slayers organs, I know. Still, it’s highly annoying. I’m sure I should complain to someone about it.”
“I can arrange for a letter to be drawn up,” offered Lindsey tongue-in-cheek with an utterly straight face.
“Aah, but that would be indiscreet at best. So, tell me, who do we have left on the list of names?”
Reeling them off from memory, Lindsey saved the mystery one for last, “…and finally we still have little or no information on Mr C Chase. We’ve cross-checked all available records and find no matches in the State of California, at least none that have a medical record indicating heart surgery during the established time-frame.”
“Keep looking, he’ll turn up somewhere. This is important Lindsey and we mustn’t let minor obstacles slow us down.”
Gesturing for Lindsey to rise and join him strolling out of the office, Holland tucked a fatherly arm around the younger mans shoulders, adding in a lowered voice, “The Senior Partners are counting on us being able to procure this slayer heart. A bit of advice; never forget the bottom line and trust me, it doesn’t get more bottom than that.”
***
The apartment looked like it had been ransacked by a bunch of whacked out addicts hunting for valuables, who on finding none, took their frustration out on the furnishings. Or, so that was what Kate was suggesting. It only took a single sniff up for Angel to know they couldn’t be more wrong.
“He didn’t die here and it was demons that did this, not humans.”
They’d already worked out the first, but the second was an unpleasant non-surprise somehow, “Are you sure?” asked Kate, not so much disbelieving as not wanting to believe it.
She may have gotten over the shock of finding out Angel, the man she’d been getting the hots for was in point of fact, a blood sucking fiend, but she still preferred dealing with the scientifically probable. Demons, Christ! As if she didn’t have enough to deal with already.
Seeing his nod and short glare, she raked the fingers of one hand into her hair to drag the blonde mess off her face. “Okay, sorry I just still find it hard to…ya know- deal with that stuff.” Her face was a picture.
Circling the viciously gutted maroon couch gracing the middle of the living space, Angel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and suppressed it, replying easily, “You don’t have to, that’s my job remember and the reason you called me.”
Watching him thoroughly scout the apartment in half the time it would take her just to give it a cursory once-over, Kate heaved an envious sigh and tucked both hands in the back pockets of her tattered, white-kneed Levi’s, “I guess. So, are you getting anything?”
Straightening from his crouched perusal of the mutilated body and bitterly disappointed, Angel shook his head and then clarified it, “Demons don’t always have a distinctive smell, they just smell…wrong. Most of the time I can only tell one from the other if they’re the kind to use a ritual or something that leaves an odour on their bodies. I’m not getting that here, so I can’t narrow it down yet.”
“Exits?” suggested Kate, determined to get her case on track and not add to the depressing long list of unsolved murders.
Vetoing that with another shake of a dark head, Angel explained, “I checked that before we came in here. They entered and left the building the same way we did. Whoever they are, they’re not the shy type.”
***
A quick call from a payphone to Wesley revealed the Englishman was actually getting somewhere with the names, thanks to some assistance from Willow. Content with that and with nothing better to do, Angel decided to really scrape the barrel and recon some of the nearby gyms.
The final one was just closing when he got there. Stepping out of the Plymouth the last thing he expected was to be greeted by a sharply disbelieving and very familiar voice, “My God, Angel, is that you?”
Turning to locate the speaker he was met with a bright-eyed young woman with long dark hair caught up in a ponytail, disbelievingly he asked, “Cordelia?”
Stepping off the curb onto the tarmac, her teeth flashed white in a fleeting grin, “You mean you’re not sure, so much for super vamp powers, huh?”
“Yes, I mean…of course I know who you are. I’m just surprised to see is all”
Embarrassment aside, Angel couldn’t help cataloguing the changes in the former Queen C of Sunnydale High, dazedly concluding that if anything, she’d got even prettier. Carefully shutting the car door car gave him a precious second to gather his wits and say, “You look good, Cordelia. Are you living here now?”
As he’d expected Cordelia took the compliment as her due, inclining her head and giving him a return inspection of her own. “Thanks, your looking pretty good yourself,” more than good if she was willing to admit that about a dead guy. He was still the picture of dark and brooding, but who was she to deny that held a certain appeal all of its own. “And yeah, LA is home sweet home now.”
“We wondered where you’d gone. Worried, too, after-“ The look on her face stopped him from mentioning the day she got impaled while running distraught from the sight of Xander making out with Willow.
Cordelia’s bulging purse was heavy, lifting the strap to stop it biting into her skin under the thin denim jacket, she shrugged, “I know I left suddenly, trust me, it was a surprise to me too, but I can’t say I wasn’t glad to get away from the hellmouth, ya know.”
Wryly agreeing, he leant back against the Plymouths black side, “I can get that. So…”
“So…”
“You first,” suggested Angel, wondering why it should feel good to see her. They hadn’t been exactly friends in Sunnydale, just happened to inhabit the same orbit and sometimes fighting on the same side. She must have been thinking along the same lines.
Miming a monster face she asked, “So, are you still all, ya know, grr face?” the engaging tilt of her head afterwards took the mild sting away.
Angel blinked in disbelief, thinking only Cordelia would ask that, “Yeah, there’s actually no cure for that,” he advised slowly.
Unfazed, she nodded thinking nobody got her humour and besides, you could take the girl out of the hellmouth but not the knowledge out of the girl, “Got it and …bummer, but you’re not evil, not here to, ya know, bite people or anything?”
Angel couldn’t figure out if she was yanking his chain or not. Giving her an uncertain look, he explained, “No, I’m sort of helping the police solve a murder, not exactly evil’s idea of fun.”
Behind them someone called out a farewell, turning back from a brief wave, Cordy joked, “Unless you’re the murderer, but I’m guessing snapping the cuffs on you would be a bit horse and stable doorish,” then eyes glinting with sly humour, she finished with a shrug, “Besides, you and cuffs- not exactly a picture that sticks.”
Letting an answering grin curve his lips, Angel tried not to recall a few times in his less than stellar past when that statement would have been categorically refuted, and belatedly remembering his manners, pushed away from the car to offer, “Where’s your car? Or, can I give you a ride somewhere?”
“I don’t have a car, too expensive on my salary, but I’m planning to change that ASAP.” Her wry smile acknowledged his disbelieving pause, recalling the days when she’d spent money like it was nothing more than water pouring through her grasping fingers.
To get it over with bluntly she added, “In case you were wondering, my parents hadn’t paid their taxes in say- forever. So, when the IRS caught up with them a couple of years ago there was nothing left, bar a few toothpicks.”
“Oh, sorry,” what else could he say? Angel remembered how much her lifestyle and popularity had meant to her. Used to a life of luxury finding yourself destitute must be twice as hard to adjust to.
“It’s okay. I’m over it and getting on with my life.” Not like she’d had much of a choice and at least the taxman hadn’t been able to touch the health insurance.
Sensing an imminent awkward pause, Angel gestured to his car, “About that ride?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind that is,” as an alternative to catching the bus, vampire chauffeur was a welcome change.
A minute or so later and happily ensconced in the big and noisy convertible’s passenger seat, Cordy slid him a quizzical look, “So why are you helping the cops solve a murder?” Asking why he left Sunnydale at all was what she really wanted to know, but figured that could lead to all kinds of things she didn’t want to discuss.
Navigating the much lighter traffic with ease, Angel smiled wondering how she’d react, “I’m a private detective now. I run an agency right here in LA.”
Cordelia goggled, “Get outta town, really?!” recovering she swiped away loose strands of dark hair blowing over her cheeks and turned to face him more fully, “You, a private detective. God, that is so…” since whatever she could think of saying might be insulting she changed her mind and waved it away, “…nevermind. Do you have a business card or something?”
“Um…no…why?”
Rolling eyes and up-flung hands spoke volumes, “Hello, calling cards. What if tomorrow night I’m walking home and come across something big and creepy lurking in the dark, other than you of course. How do I know how to get in touch? Angel, you need to market- be accessible, ya know?”
Stumped, Angel wondered if there was actually an answer he could make to that, then settled for, “Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome,” settling back, Cordy waited for him to mention mutual acquaintances. When he didn’t she puffed out a sigh and thinking she was doing him a favour, did it for him, “Okay I’ll bite, how’s Buffy? She’s back in LA, too, isn’t she?”
Not that Cordelia was particularly interested, but figured if she didn’t ask, Buffy would find out and put it down to old resentments, which was totally untrue. After the surgery she’d picked up the frayed threads of her old life and weaved herself a new one. Go me!
“Cordelia, Buffy is dead. She died after graduation,” that simple statement uttered so low knocked the breath right out of her.
A colossal fender-bender right in front of them couldn’t have dragged her horrified gaze off his averted face just then, “Oh My God. Angel, I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t know. I’ve been so out of touch. I mean, Buffy seemed so eternal- like you. I just assumed-“
She was practically wringing her hands. Taken back by her reaction given they hadn’t been on good terms and unaware of her own close brush with death, Angel shook his head, “Cordelia, it’s okay. You didn’t know. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
Easy for him to say, he hadn’t just put both feet in his mouth and done a pirouette. Still reeling she had to ask, “How did it happen?”
It was comparable to prodding a barely healed over wound, but Angel answered as best he could, “She was mortally wounded stopping the Mayor making his ascension to demon and died a few days later in hospital. We were all there at the end.” He hadn’t left her side hoping that she’d open her eyes and speak to him at least once. She hadn’t.
Skilled at assessing subtleties Cordy saw the splinters of grief buried deep in onyx eyes. Saying sorry again just seemed a waste of time. No words could encompass all of that pain, so she didn’t even try, “Is that why you left Sunnydale to come here?”
Immeasurably grateful she hadn’t showered him with platitudes, Angel nodded a little more enthusiastically than usual, “Yeah, I like it here though. Big city, lots of things to do.” Not to mention people to save, monsters to kill.
Well, she wasn’t going to argue with that, city life suited her better too. “I’m glad,” she said and wisely left it that. Rounding the last corner onto Cordelia’s street she pointed to her building, “This is me, just here will do.”
Pulling up to the curb, he left the engine idling and turned to scan the Spanish style apartment building, “Nice place.”
Getting out, Cordelia shut the door with a pleased smile lighting her face, “It is. Thanks for the ride, Angel. It was weird, but kind of nice seeing you again.”
Pausing due to a poignant stab somewhere in the region of her heart, Cordy took a moment to soak up the darkly handsome face she had, long ago, coveted. That was another life though, so she dismissed it as nostalgia after a moment.
“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Maybe,” he agreed with a brief smile and left it at that, certain it was unlikely.
***
When he eventually got back to the office, Wesley was bent over the printer and squinting to read as it spat out letters. Shutting the door behind him, Angel’s expression still bore a bemused stamp as he shrugged out of his coat.
“Do you remember Cordelia Chase? She had her own groupies called the Cordettes and loved being-“ he almost repeated the old phrase, ‘Queen of Mean’, but having just spent a fairly pleasant half hour with her that felt- wrong.
“I just met up with her,” he finished instead, strolling over to the coffee machine to pour a mug of the bitter brew. “She’s training to be a fitness instructor here in LA.” Tipping back his head he took a swig and then scrunched his face up in disgust at the taste, luckily it was the caffeine he was after.
“Photographs only, still it’s strange” Pursing his lips, Wesley’s attention didn’t stray from the printer, only straightening as it came to the end.
Flicking the sheet out to proffer it toward the vampire, he announced, “You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve managed to obtain a list of Donor recipients, unfortunately none donor specific. Oh, and Willow wanted me to tell you it was distressingly easy to hack into the files.”
Taking the single sheet and scanning it Angel’s brows drew together in a perplexed frown, “Richard Stokes is here, but I don’t recognise…” He came to one and fell abruptly silent.
“What is it?” asked Wesley moving to stand beside him, trying to see over the vampires shoulder.
Silently, Angel pointed to one name about half way down the page, “Mr C Chase.” It couldn’t be, could it? “We’re looking for a pretty brunette,” he muttered, “But Cordelia Chase wasn’t sick when she left Sunnydale, was she?”